


The Runaway's Runaway

by Tall_Tales



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Major Original Character(s), POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tall_Tales/pseuds/Tall_Tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's daughter has had enough of being ignored.  She steals the impala and runs off on a cat and mouse chase across the country with her hunter father and her Uncle Dean on her trail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harley Winchester

He forgot again. Not like I expected him to remember.

I think he remembers but chooses to pretend he doesn't.

I can see him though. On this day, every year, looking sad when he thinks I'm not there.

Sometimes, he holds her picture, sometimes he cries, sometimes he just sits on the couch looking lost. When I found out, Dean told me it wasn't my fault. I didn't ask to be born.

But it is my fault.

It will always be my fault.

Fifteen years ago, today, my brother and I were born. He came first, but there was something wrong with him, not enough oxygen they said. They couldn't get the umbilical cord unwrapped in time...he didn't make it.

While they were trying to save a lost cause, they barely noticed the little girl, screaming and covered in an unusual amount of blood. Something had gone wrong, my mother bled out before they could save her and that left me...just me. Screaming and crying in the doctor's arms. My eyes slammed shut to the world. He handed me to my father and I heard his voice for the first time; shaking with the tears he was trying to hold back, but calm, just the same.

"Shh, shh, sweet heart, daddy's here. It's okay now." He whispered and I stopped crying but my eyes remained shut.

"Sam, she's beautiful." Dean said. "Has she opened her eyes yet?" and I did. That was the first time my father saw my eyes, my mother's eyes, as bright and mischievous as she was. Green like soft grass on an afternoon in July when the flies buzz around your head and your t-shirt sticks to your back with sweat and a cool breeze is all it takes to make that day the best day. My eyes are the color of the best day. 

I go to my room and pretend I don't see my father. Every year he just sits there and mourns my mother, who died before her time, and my brother, who never even stood a chance. When he mourns their deaths, I blame myself. My brother died because the cord wrapped around his neck and my mother died because she gave birth to two babies within the span of a few minutes.

If I had never been born, the doctor's would have noticed the cord, saved my brother, and my mother wouldn't have bled out.

Reaching under my bed, I grasp a small shoe box with a length of string wrapped around it. I grip it under one arm and climb out my window, onto the roof.

The sky is clear, speckled with rural Kansas stars and lit by a Cheshire cat smile. I set the box on the roof next to me and open it. A cherry coke, a birthday themed paper plate with matching napkin, a cupcake with blue icing, a candle, and a box of matches.

Just like every year, I take out the plate and napkin first, followed by the cherry coke. I carefully place a candle into the cupcake and place it on the plate. I light the match and candle and watch the wax melt a little before beginning.

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Harley, happy birthday to me." I sing quietly before blowing out the candle. I watch the thin trail of smoke drift up to the stars. I take a bite of the cupcake. Every year since I was eight, I walk to the bakery down the street and buy a chocolate cupcake with light blue icing. Then I walk to the supermarket and buy a single can of Cherry Coca-cola. Every year, I climb onto the roof, sing to myself, and eat a cupcake washed down with cherry coke by myself.

I don't take a second bite of the cupcake and I can't bring myself to drink the coke. Every year, the cupcake and coke ritual felt good but this year, everything tastes sour. Sixteen years to the day that I lost my brother and mother within the span of minutes.

Now it's just me and Dad...no. Saying, me and Dad or dad and I, implies that we are a family. We're not. There's me and there's him. There's Dean and Lisa and Ben and Mary but that's different. Dean is my Uncle and Ben's grown up now. Mary doesn't mind me but she's busy all the time with friends and school and her various boyfriends. She takes me shopping or to the movies sometimes when she knows something's bothering me. She never asks me what's bugging me and I like that because I wouldn't talk about it anyway.

Dad and I live with Dean, Lisa, and Mary, which the kids at school think is weird but it doesn't bother me. Having Dean around is an adventure by itself and a big house makes it easy to disappear for a while without being noticed. I secretly think that if Dad and I were on our own, we'd be eating Chinese take-out and pizza every night. That's okay but I like Lisa's cooking more than cold pizza. Plus, if I was alone with Dad every year on my birthday...well, I don't think I'd be living with Dad anymore.

Voices lift through an open window and I recognize Lisa and Dean. I shift to my hands and knees and crawl towards the other end of the house. In the middle of the second floor is Dean and Lisa's room. I can hear them talking about me.

"I think he forgot again." Lisa says and I hear Dean pacing.

"He didn't forget, he never does."

"I mean about Harley. Every year he does this. Think about her for a second, Dean. I now you care about Sam but she's your niece. Every year, her father sits on the couch and cries over the woman and son he lost but he doesn't look at what he's got. How must she feel?"

"Forgotten." I whisper as Dean says it below me. "I'll talk to him." He says and I hear the door close behind him as he goes to Dad's room. I crawl over the roof towards the end of the house where Dad's room is.

"Sam?" Dean says, the door creaks a little as he opens it.

"Yeah?" Dad replies, solemnly.

"How are you?" Dean asks, I can almost picture it. Dad will be lying on his back in bed, holding a picture of Mom. Dean will be standing in front of the closed door with his arms crossed.

"How do you think I am, Dean?" Dad snaps.

"I think, you're acting like a brat." Dean says calmly. The bed squeaks a little as Dad sits up.

"Do you want to explain that position?" He asks.

"You met Jackie at a party and she got pregnant because you two got it on drunk. When you found out, you promised to take care of her. You started to fall in love with her and then she died giving birth. You lost your son and I know you were going to marry Jackie. I know that sucks but you can't keep ignoring your daughter like this."

"I don't ignore her." Dad snaps, I roll my eyes.

"Really? What's today?" Dean asks, annoyed.

"The day my girlfriend died giving birth to my son." Sam snaps again. There's a slap, as Dean's hand hits Dad's face, and a thud, as Dad's head hits the ground.

"Try again, dumbass." Dean snaps at him.

"It's her birthday."

"How old is she?" Dean demands.

"Sixteen." Sam says as though he's only just realizing he has a teenager on his hands.

"No shit, Sherlock! You have never taken an interest in her and I'm honestly surprised she hasn't tried to run away yet."

"I take an interest in her!"

"Really? What grade is she in?"

"She just finished tenth." Sam says, I feel my muscles tense up.

"Sam, she graduated in June. You can't even remember that your own daughter was smart enough to graduate two years early?!" Dean shouts.

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't tell that to me. Tell that to her. If you haven't noticed, she takes care of herself. She doesn't need Lisa and me to take care of her even though we do. If Harley heard this…I don't know what she'd do and I don't want to find out." The door slams behind him; I crawl back over the roof and back into my bedroom.

I can't stay here.

I just can't.


	2. Toto, I Don't Think We're In Kansas Anymore

I'm not thinking but I'm thinking more clearly than ever.

I grab my rucksack and pack the essentials: shirts, jeans, my pocket knife, socks...

I take off my mother's necklace. I wear it so much I usually forget I'm wearing it. It's just a simple gold chain with a green stone hanging off the end. I lay it on the bed beside the letter I wrote. I grab my pentagram necklace from the desk and pull it on as I slip down the stairs.

I skip the third step from the bottom (it always betrays me) and walk to the kitchen. Chips, bread, peanut butter, an apple, and a water bottle, find their way into my rucksack. I grab my jacket and the keys to the impala and slip silently into the night.

Dean taught me to drive after I graduated. I still have to wait another year before I can get my license but he said it was important to learn early. He'll kill me for stealing his car but he'll have to catch me first.

I open the garage manually; I can't risk getting caught at the door. Dean works on the Impala every weekend without fail. He never drives her so she just sits in the garage. She must be lonely. I slide into the driver's seat. She smells like leather and salt and hamburgers. Even after seventeen years without hunting, road trips, or crappy diner food, Dean still can't get the smell out of his car. That says something; I don't know what, but something.

I stick the key in the ignition and she starts up. Quietly humming to life, like she is just waking up after a long nap. I guess she is, in a way. I press the gas and glide out of the garage and down the street. She runs like a dream.

Within two hours I see a green sign lit up by the impala's headlights.

Welcome to Colorado!

Hi, Colorado, my name is Harley. Nice to meet you.

I wonder if Dad and Dean have even woken up yet. They'll probably notice the impala's absence at eight in the morning when Dean will walk outside to get the paper. It's only eleven so I have nine hours before they even realize I'm gone. I'll keep driving until midnight then I'll pull over and sleep for a few hours.

I could head north to Canada. I fantasize about slipping through the border and starting a new life for myself. I'm a fifteen year old genius who's successfully read ninety percent of the books in the Lawrence Town Library so that seems like a plausible option…

I drive and drive until I start falling asleep at the wheel. Then I pull into the parking lot of a McDonald's, crawl into the back seat, and fall asleep remembering one million other times that I've fallen asleep in the Impala's back seat.

The sun wakes me up and I walk into the McDonald's and buy some breakfast. The cashier stares at my eyes with a bit of fear and I have the feeling she's about to try to exorcise me. I put on my sunglasses the second I get back to the car. I'm on the road with half an hour to spare before Dean realizes the Impala and I are gone and he comes to kill me.

It's strange but I kind of want to be caught. I want Dad to come out here, drag me home, yell at me, and lock me in my room because at least he'd be paying attention to me. I know it's selfish and wrong and downright horrible but that's what I partially want.

Another part of me never wants to see him again. It wants him to let me go. It wants to drive to Canada or Mexico or California, get into any school I want, and just live and breathe. That's understandable. I was pretty much ignored for my entire life so going somewhere where I am a prodigy is a pretty amazing prospect.

I drive west because that seems to make sense and I don't have to make a decision. If I choose to turn north, there's no going back. I have to keep driving until I hit Canada. If I turn south, there's no chickening out. I have to keep going until I hit Mexico. Once I hit the border that's my life. Either Mexico or Canada. So I keep going west because California doesn't need me to make a decision.

My cell phone rings and vibrates on the seat next to me. I pick it up.

Incoming call: Dad

I let it ring and then listen to the voicemail.

"Harley, where are you?!" He sounds terrified and furious. "Dean and I are freaking out. I can't believe you stole the impala! We're coming after you and we will find you. Please, just be safe and come home."

"Gimme that!" Dean shouts in the distance. The phone is handed over. "If you put one scratch on baby, I will kill you. That car had better be in the best condition of its existence when we catch up to you! You hear me?"

"Dean!" The phone gets passed back to Dad. "Just come home."

"Don't you hurt baby!" The phone goes dead at that moment. I smile despite everything. I don't want to go back and I don't want to get caught because now it's a game of cat and mouse. My favorite.

My phone vibrates almost every hour but Dean always told me never to pick up the phone when I'm driving and I already broke the rule once. I stop just before one o'clock for a bathroom break and a snack. My phone rings so I pick it up.

"Hello, Daddy-o." I say.

"Harley, thank god. Where are you?" Dad says.

"You're funny. I know you're tracking the call. Two minutes, right?"

"Harley, you have to come home."

"Why?" He doesn't say anything for a moment. "Why should I go back to no-one-cares, Kansas? Why should I return to a house where I can be ignored for the rest of my life? I could win a Nobel prize and you would just cry and whine about how mom and my brother are dead."

"Harley, I…"

"No, I'm talking now. Just so you know, not having a mom or dad kind of screwed me up so good job, Daddy-o. I miss her too, by the way. I kind of wish I could have had a mom. And you should have been there. It was just us but it wasn't. I didn't have you, I had Dean and Lisa and Ben and Mary. You had your brother, you had me, and you lost your one night stand and a baby that you never knew. You ignored me. You shut me out because I killed them. I guess that's fair…" The clock strikes one and I sigh. "Sorry, two minutes." And I hang up.

He's going to be angry. He won't like me teasing him like this. I've made it worse for myself.

What should I care?

He's going to crush me anyway. I should enjoy the game of cat and mouse while it lasts. I should tease him, taunt him, lord it over him that I can escape if I want to. It's in my right.

Right?


	3. Mouse Trap

It's been a week and I'm still on the road. Dean taught me to run credit card scams so money hasn't been an issue.

Dad calls every few hours. Sometimes I give him two minutes and sometimes I let it ring. I know they're on my trail, following me from town to town and showing a picture of me with the impala to anyone who'll stand still.

I turned north three days ago when I hit the Pacific Coast Highway. It's a beautiful thing.

I've only ever seen pictures of the ocean but they never do it justice. The ocean isn't a blank stretch of blue. It's a rolling, pitching, churning, living creature of one million shades of blue. It hits the sky in such a way that you have no clue where one ends and the other begins.

I spent an hour on a stretch of quiet beach. The impala parked in the sand and the sun burning down. I waded in the waves and lay on the sand. It was a beautiful moment and a beautiful day.

The sun made everything seem surreal and dreamy and I felt very tired. The air felt light and warm and exotic to my Midwestern lungs and memories of suburbia. I felt like Schrödinger's cat. I wasn't alive but I was more alive than I'd ever been. I wasn't dead and yet I felt like time had stopped and I wasn't moving through the world anymore. Like it was spinning and I wasn't a part of it anymore.

It's a strange feeling.

I reach Seattle on a Wednesday. I check in to a motel for a night because I need a bed instead of the impala's back seat. It's eleven o'clock so I flop down on the bed and fall asleep in my jeans and jacket. I'm too tired to even kick off my shoes.

Someone knocks on the door and I lift my head. 3:43am the little alarm clocks tells me in it's annoying red lines. Whoever it is knocks again and I groan.

"Coming, coming. Do you know what time it is?" I get up and stagger to the door. I fumble with the locks and wrench it open. Dad and Dean glare down at me. Dean's through the door before I can slam it shut and Sam is holding me and telling me never to do that again.

I throw Dad off but he forces me to sit on the edge of the bed as he crouches in front of me. I glare at my hands, one of which has a bandana tied around its palm. Dad pulls it off revealing an angry red cut that's only just started healing.

"What happened?"

"I sliced my hand on some glass that was in the road. I didn't want to blow a tire running over it." Dean nods proudly in the corner but Dad doesn't see.

Dad stands up and leans against the wall, running a hand through his long brown hair.

"Dean, go check on your car."

"What?"

"Now, please." Dad snaps, Dean slips out and gives me a "good luck" look before shutting the door. There's a moment of silence. Like the calm before the storm.

"Do you realize how terrified we were? Do realize how much you scared Lisa and Mary? Dean? Ben? Me? You were selfish, Harley. Stupid and selfish!" The words are just more straws, straws on a camel's back. I thought that running away would clean the slate but it didn't. Getting caught put everything where it was except worse. Straws, straws, straws. Heavier, heavier, heavier.

"I was selfish?" I ask quietly, still looking at my hands. "I was selfish? A bit like the pot calling the kettle black."

"What?"

"Every year, on my birthday, for fifteen years, you sat on the couch and felt sorry for yourself. You ignored me for fifteen years and I'm the selfish one. I didn't miss a single one of your birthdays. I never forgot anything. I worked so hard so that I could make you proud of me. But you didn't care."

"I cared, Harley."

"Stop lying!" I snap. "You never came to any of my soccer games. You never came to any of the award ceremonies or class plays. Dean, Lisa, Ben, and Mary came but you didn't. You barely even looked at me unless it was to get angry." Dad doesn't deny this. He just stands there.

"It's not your fault." He says. "I don't blame you for what happened to your mom and brother. I just look at you and I see her and I see him and I remember that they're dead."

"I hate you." I hiss. It isn't the first time I've said it, it won't be the last, but this time I mean it. I hate him. My mind, heart, soul, stomach, and guts hate him. Every bone in my body hates him. Every molecule in every cell of my body hates him with a burning passion. And he can feel the heat of my hatred burning his skin. He knows I really mean it and he looks hurt.

"Okay. We're going home. You can ride the first stretch in the impala with Dean. Get your stuff."

Fifteen minutes later, I'm sitting in the passenger's seat of the impala on my way out Seattle. I lean my forehead against the cool glass and shut my eyes.

"I'm proud of you, Harley." Dean says, I look at him. His eyes are fixed on the road. "You did something that he needed you to do. He needed to see that you aren't some little kid he can ignore all the time. You took care of yourself and Baby for a week. But you know what's out there. You know how dangerous it is to be out on your own."

"You and Dad were on your own once."

"But we had each other."

"Not all the time."

"But mostly. We hunted together and we stuck together. You can't go out on your own yet."

"It's not like I was hunting. I was running."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"But if it was just being ignored, you would have run away a long time ago. What was the straw that broke your back?" I'm quiet for a moment. No one knows I can get onto the roof much less hear conversations from up there.

"I heard you and Dad talking." Dean is quiet too. He doesn't ask how I heard. Maybe he assumes I was behind the door, maybe he already knows about the roof and the birthday ritual. But probably not.

"So… I gave you the idea…"

"No, it's always been in the back of my head. But then you said it and it seemed like such a good idea. It was a much better idea in theory than in reality, I guess." I lean back against the cold window and watch Dad's headlights reflected in the mirror


End file.
